


Your Coffin Or Mine?

by Tim (boywonder)



Category: DOGS - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-08
Updated: 2008-04-08
Packaged: 2017-10-03 21:11:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boywonder/pseuds/Tim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fic is really choppy, but it's meant to be that way. No one said I was aiming for coherence.<br/>Warnings for blood and dirty language.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Coffin Or Mine?

_"You don't know how fucked up you are."_

"Yes I fucking do. Shut up and take your pants off."

\-----

They can't tell when it started, and they probably won't be able to tell where it's headed unless one of them dies. Unless _Badou_ dies, really, since Haine won't be lucky enough to get to die.

The first time, it was too much like an explosion, like a bullet shot out of a gun after too long, and they don't remember _that_ either. At least, Haine is pretty sure he doesn't remember. You'd think you would. Some bullshit nonsense romance crap about remembering your first time, and all. But that only means your first time _ever_, not your first time with the partner that swore up and down that he was straight.

Or, uh, something.

It was a long time after the _first_ time that Haine got him to make it hurt. The redhead wasn't exactly careful, didn't exactly go slow or take his time making sure there was enough lubrication. But what was a little overlooked preparation to a guy that had actually had pieces of his torso shot out? Yeah, it didn't really matter to Haine. What mattered was the friction, was the desperation, was the _heat_.

He had to dig his nails in _hard_ to get Badou angry enough to hurt him. He was sure he'd actually peeled skin away from the way it felt. He could feel blood in his hands, smell it in the air.

Badou yelled, and stopped moving. The yell didn't bother Haine, but the _stopping_ sure as fuck did.

"What the _fuck_, you crazy ass shithead?!" Badou demanded. He moved as if he might leave entirely, but Haine's nails were still buried in his skin.

"So you're gonna leave if I let go?" Haine asked, his words more like a growl than actual speech. He dug his nails in tighter.

Badou wrenched away anyway, and Haine glared daggers at him before he let him go.

"Fuck you. You are such a goddamn freak," Badou said, kneeling up and rubbing his back. He winced when he felt the scratches there, and glared even harder through his good eye at Haine. Grumbling curses at a mile a minute, he reached over for the cigarettes he'd left lying on the nightstand.

Haine didn't even have to glare at him. He was too busy smirking. He was still harder than hell, but it was just too fucking _funny_.

"You smoked the last one of those before you took your clothes off," he said, smirking.

Badou's hand tightened around the empty pack, and he knew Haine was right. "Fuck you," he said, voice starting to shake.

Haine caught the change and his smirk became a grin. "That was your last pack, too."

The albino was sure his nose actually broke when Badou hit him.

For awhile after that, all Haine had to do was bide his time and start stealing cigarettes from Badou. He knew that when they were between money was a really good time to do it. He'd have felt bad, but smoking was fucking stupid anyway. Eventually, Badou would find that there was no one to freak out but _him_. And he kind of liked it that way.

_"You're bleeding."_

"Shut up and fuck me anyway."

It wasn't until much later that he realized that he wasn't the only one enjoying it. He noticed it the first time he told Badou he didn't feel like it.

"Fuck off. You want to fuck someone? Get a hooker. I'm not in the mood."

"What are you, some kind of whiny pussy little _girl_?"

They argued for a few minutes, but Haine was the one that threw the first punch.

"You're lucky I don't rip your other fucking eye out," he growled. He was wound too tightly as it was. Seeing Giovanni two days before that may or may not have had _every fucking thing_ to do with it, but there was no sense in sharing that unimportant piece of information.

Badou spit blood onto the floor and grinned like a maniac, like a reflection of Haine's own more-than-slightly cracked psyche. Haine found himself returning the grin, but on _his_ face it was more like a freaky skeleton grimacing than anything else.

They ran at each other, but Haine was the one that fell. It wasn't that he couldn't take Badou. He definitely fucking could. It was that he more or less wanted Badou to take _him_.

He didn't know where the blood came from, only that it came at all. The how wasn't important and the why didn't matter. Just the fact that he was bleeding at all was enough.

Their mouths met, and Haine could taste his own blood more than Badou's. Nothing could have possibly been sexier than his own blood mixed with the everpresent smoke hanging on his partner's breath, and he couldn't get enough of it fast enough.

"You gonna walk out on me again, asshole?" he growled against Badou's lips.

"Only after I'm done fucking your brains out," Badou shot back. That madman cracked-tone voice was there, now. The best part, for Haine, was that the redhead wasn't actually even out of cigarettes.

There was no sweeter victory, and he didn't care if he lost gallons of blood, so long as the heat they found there never went away.

He didn't even bother to notice how much it freaked Badou out afterward, when the redhead finally realized for himself that, _oh fuck_, there was nothing hotter than this.

...Or maybe he did, and that smirk crept onto his bloody face again. But that could have been Badou's imagination, too.

Anything was possible.


End file.
